


Something Like That

by justlikesomuch



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pod Tours America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-07 11:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikesomuch/pseuds/justlikesomuch
Summary: In which Lovett takes a Vietor Detour into obsessing about Tommy’s public erection problem.





	Something Like That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilyRosePotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosePotter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's You. You Do.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14062743) by [LilyRosePotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosePotter/pseuds/LilyRosePotter). 



The first time, he’s embarrassed for Tommy. They’re recording a livestream for the Ringer, and Tommy’s wearing those tight jeans he seems to love so much. Lovett’s first instinct is to help him, to protect him from the humiliation of getting visibly aroused in front of the whole internet while talking about election politics.  

He looks around for a pillow, a sweatshirt, anything Tommy could use to cover himself. Failing that, he settles for plopping Pundit onto Tommy’s troublemaking lap. He glances over at Tommy’s face, aiming to diffuse the awkwardness with some conspiratorial eye contact. Instead, Tommy stares ahead, looking mildly stricken, and Lovett understands that he should pretend like nothing happened.

Except, as the weeks pass, it keeps happening, and Lovett keeps noticing. And then he starts checking to see if it’s happening, which is a super normal and casual thing that he feels very comfortable about doing.

He keeps a running tally (as one does) of the scenarios that elicit this reaction in Tommy. The common denominator seems to be appearances in front of audiences. It never happens when they record in the studio, or when they’re mingling with fans after the live shows (thank God). Tommy’s boner problem is apparently related to performance jitters.

Lovett knows he should keep feigning indifference. The only way this could all get worse would be if he let on that he’s keeping tabs on Tommy’s pants. So he pretends, month after month, show after show. Lovett remains a paragon of self-control. He’s doing such an admirable job not noticing Tommy’s dick one night at the Improv, such a stellar act, that he’s surprised to suddenly hear himself blurt out, “Is it the adrenaline?”

Tommy’s deep blush indicates he knows exactly what Lovett’s referring to. Lovett instantly feels guilty for putting his friend on the spot about such an uncomfortable issue. But it’s exhilarating, too, making Tommy squirm a little.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away. The silence stretches out agonizingly between them as Tommy refuses to meet Lovett’s eyes.

Finally, he says “Something like that.” Lovett wants to press for further clarification, but right at that moment, he hears his cue to go out and introduce the Vietor Detour, and he loses the opportunity.

After the show, Lovett bows out of drinks with Guy and Ira. It’s been the longest week, and he’s sure an early bedtime is in his future. Later, though, when he’s finally sprawled out in bed with Pundit snuffling softly by his side, sleep eludes him. He’s exhausted, but his brain is busy, endlessly replaying that brief backstage exchange with Tommy.

“Something like that,” Tommy had said, his expression vague and evasive. Something like that. What could he mean? What’s “like” adrenaline? Lovett can’t stop thinking about it.

Is it creepy to think this much about his friend’s erections? Probably (definitely). But the whole thing is so odd. Odd and compelling and, Lovett must admit, pretty hot. Hot in a completely abstract, theoretical way, of course. Academically hot.

He tries to clear his mind, struggles to focus on another subject. Still, his thoughts keep returning to Tommy and his dumb tight pants. Lovett can’t let it rest until he he figures out what it all means. It’s like a puzzle he can’t solve. A rock in his shoe. A pea under his mattress.

Because it’s weird for Tommy to have this problem as an adult, right? Lovett can’t recall having a random public erection in over a decade. He was a late bloomer in this, as in most things. His classmates were preoccupied with the problem in middle school, when Lovett was still thinking about kid stuff.

By high school, everyone else moved along and sorted out their ill-timed boner situation. Then, it was suddenly Lovett’s turn. That’s when he had his first fully-formed crushes, his first fantasies, and his first scrambled awakening to desires he wasn’t ready to articulate. His body was even more confused about it than his brain.

He thinks about junior year, and the ongoing anxiety of worrying it would happen during Speech and Debate. All that pressure and attention, the excitement of competition, made it a terrifying probability. A senior named Jeremy Goldman was a big part of it, though his younger self would never have copped to that.

Jeremy. Lovett hasn’t thought about his Speech and Debate teammate in years. He grabs his phone from underneath Pundit, momentarily inspired to google Jeremy and find out what he’s up to now. After a moment of consideration, he sighs and tosses the phone down again. Jeremy was a cocky asshole, but he’d rather remember him as 17 and beautiful forever. No need to burst that bubble.

Pundit gets up and repositions herself on Lovett’s stomach. Apparently, neither of them is close to falling asleep. He checks the time on his phone again and groans.

“What do you think, Pundit?” he says. “Wanna go for a walk?” He figures the streets are empty now. The hour is ridiculous enough that he can get away with going out dressed as he is, in Tommy Johns and a hoodie. Pundit’s always appropriately dressed, of course. Lovett pulls on sneakers and goes to get the leash.

The lawns and sidewalks of his neighborhood are quiet and cool. Walking is a great idea, much better than tossing around in bed and trying to get comfortable. In the crisp air, his mind calms down a bit, going still against the backdrop of soft night sounds—sprinkler systems, distant car alarms, birds whose names Lovett will probably forget to look up later.

“Something like that.” It keeps bugging him, the way Tommy had trailed off after saying it. Lovett is left with the impression that there was more he had wanted to hint at, more he wanted Lovett to understand. Again he asks himself: what’s “something like” adrenaline?

Maybe it’s like those times when Lovett feels an indistinct pang in the middle of a hectic day and thinks—what _is_ that? Does he need to eat? Jerk off? Take up meditation? It’s a fleeting sense of an unmet need, all tangled and mixed up with everything else he feels. He knows he wants _something_ , but he can’t name it. When that happens, he tries to satisfy it in various ways, methodically going down the list until he feels more settled.

That might be what’s happening to Tommy. He gets excited and anxious when they go on stage, and his brain floods him with all kinds of sensations. The thrill of anticipation becomes a general thrill, and his dick gets confused.

This explanation satisfies Lovett for a few minutes. Then he thinks about Tommy’s years on the campaign, his time working in lower press, his public-facing job at the NSC. Tommy coolly handled stressors far more formidable than a guest appearance on Lovett or Leave It. The LOLI audience is certainly less intimidating than the Washington press corps (their predilection for truffle macaroni notwithstanding).

Even with all that pressure to perform, Lovett never once saw Tommy running around the White House with an excitement boner. That’s the kind of thing Lovett would definitely remember. There must be something else to it.

Pundit starts to slow her trot, and Lovett realizes he’s walked much further than he intended to, carried along by his ruminations. They’ve made it all the way to that pink house with the hideous lawn sculptures, and Lovett was lost in his thoughts the whole time. He turns around to head back home, but Pundit lies down on the sidewalk in protest (possibly against the lawn art, probably against being made to walk). He sighs and picks her up.

“You’re lucky you’re small,” he says into her fur as he carries her home.

***

Of course, Lovett has to address the subject with Tommy again. That’s when he finally starts to put the pieces together. They’re out on tour again, waiting backstage to start the first live show of the trip. Lovett can’t stop fidgeting as he waits, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clicking the pen he’s gripping. Tommy reaches from behind him and takes the pen right out of his hand.

Lovett turns around to glare at Tommy, who’s fixing him with his classic bossy, “cut it out” expression. It sends the usual tiny thrill to Lovett’s belly. He raises his eyebrows and sticks his tongue out at him, pushing playfully at Tommy’s chest. Tommy flushes bright red, and Lovett reflexively peers at Tommy’s khakis and—

Oh, that’s—oh. There may be something going on here that Lovett hasn’t yet considered.

***

He hopes no one notices how distracted he is during the show. If it’s obvious, he can count on Akilah to tease him about it later. Every time he’s on stage with Tommy, he keeps glancing at him, spacing out and losing the thread of the discussion. He’s struggling to integrate a new variable into his assessment of Tommy’s boner problem. For all his analysis, he failed to note one consistent factor: Lovett himself.

He can’t be right about this, though. It’s impossible. In all the time they’ve known each other, Tommy has never shown him any romantic interest. But what happened between them backstage—if was any other guy, Lovett would take it as an opening. With Tommy, however, Lovett is a practiced expert at not Going There. Sure, he flirts with Tommy, but he’s careful to do it the same way he does with Favs: blatant, comical, verging on harassment. Tommy’s a more gratifying target, because he’s so responsive, blushing and cracking up every time Lovett pretends to come on to him. Is this just more of the same thing, just Tommy being responsive to his antics?

***

Years ago, back in D.C, Lovett was the one getting inconvenient erections all the time. At least it wasn’t in public, though. It only happened in the privacy of his own home, where he was constantly confronted by the distracting presence of his handsome, ostensibly straight roommate.

Tommy was always there—in his space, in his head. Tommy leaning over him on the couch to grab the remote. Tommy retrieving some item off the shelf that Lovett couldn’t quite reach, his soft t-shirt riding up to reveal the strong muscles of his lower back. Tommy’s sleep-husky morning voice vibrating along Lovett’s spine. Tommy’s arms spread wide, casually draped across the back of the couch, his long fingers skimming the threadbare fabric absentmindedly. Tommy emerging from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his flushed bare chest.

Tommy’s hand, warm and solid between Lovett’s shoulder blades as he hunched over his laptop, staring down a blank Word document. Tommy telling him it would be okay, that he could do this.

Tommy’s clean, soapy scent clinging to every part of their home. No escape from it, even when Lovett was alone in the apartment. Tommy. Tommy.

If Tommy ever noticed the effect he had on Lovett, he was kind enough not to draw attention to it. That’s how Tommy’s always been, politely restrained in a way that Lovett admires but can’t relate to.

Lovett eventually became accustomed to sharing a home with Tommy, and his body stopped reacting so intensely. There’s only so much guilty jerking off to thoughts of one’s roommate that a person can do before simply adapting to the situation. Gradually, he was even able to accept Tommy’s overtures of bro-y affection without itching for more.

When Tommy moved to L.A., Lovett wondered if the old feelings would come rushing back, but it turned out to be fine. It’s not like they live together, after all. They just spend all day together in a cramped office. And strategize about their company after work. And travel together. And hang out on the weekends. Lovett doesn’t even think about Tommy that way anymore. Almost never.

***

They go out together after the show, and Lovett gets to pick the club. He keeps trying to get Tommy alone so they can talk, but Favs is glued to his side all night. Finally Lovett becomes desperate and texts Emily to intervene.

_Call your husband. He misses Leo and I think he’s about to get into a fight on Twitter._

_On it,_ comes Emily’s immediate reply. Wonderful, reliable Emily.

That does the trick. Within minutes, Favs heads outside to return her call. He brushes by Lovett on his way to the exit and tosses an arm around his shoulder, leaning in to shout in Lovett’s ear. “Good call on the bar. This place is great! But it’s so loud!” He holds up his phone.

“Can’t hear you,” Lovett yells, pointing at his earplugs in an exaggerated gesture. Favs throws his head back and laughs, harder than the joke deserves (itself a reason to be his friend for life). He grins at Lovett and floats away through the crowd, eyes on his phone screen.

Lovett turns to the bar and takes a steadying breath. He can still back out. He might still back out.

Tommy is leaning with one elbow on the bar, scanning the crowd. When he spots Lovett, his face crinkles into a warm grin. It twists at Lovett’s chest, and he knows he has to do this now, before he talks himself out of it.

He pockets the earplugs and makes his way across the club to Tommy. Without speaking, he takes his arm and steers him into a relatively uncrowded corner of the room. It’s not quiet enough for the conversation Lovett wants to have, but it has the advantage of still being in public.

Tommy looks down at him, a question in his eyes. “Hi?”

Lovett studies his stupid, beautiful face. How can he look so good after a day of travel, rehearsal and a show? Lovett feels (and probably smells) like a sweaty sneaker, but here’s Tommy, fresh and handsome as always.

He doesn’t have to do this now, he thinks. He could tell Tommy he has something important to discuss with him tomorrow, push this off for Tomorrow Lovett (that poor idiot) to deal with. But right now, with Tommy looking at him expectantly, so close he can feel the warmth of his body, Lovett wants to be brave. He stands on his toes to speak in Tommy’s ear. Tommy leans down to give him access, and their cheeks brush.

“Why else?” Lovett near-shouts. He rocks back on his heels and waits for a response. Tommy just looks confused.

Right. He doesn’t know what Lovett’s talking about. Because Tommy isn’t the one who’s been fixated on their brief awkward conversation for the past two weeks. Because Lovett doesn’t live in Tommy’s head the way Tommy lives in Lovett’s.

This is a mistake. Lovett looks longingly at the exit, searches the club, hoping Favs will come to save him from this disaster. But Favs (the useless traitor) is nowhere to be seen.

And anyway, Lovett can’t let it go. He has to find out exactly what Tommy was implying. If there’s even a tiny chance that his suspicion is correct, he has to know. He won’t let this pass him by.

“Why else do live shows make you as hard as a teenage boy at a pep rally?” Lovett says. Granted, it’s not his most elegant construction ever. Tommy winces, but Lovett plows ahead. “You said ‘something like that’ in the way that means ‘yes, and…’”

A cool, defensive shade passes over Tommy’s face, banishing the familiar ease and fondness from his eyes. Lovett recognizes that look. It’s Tommy’s press face, his NSC face. It’s a superficial, amiable mask that reveals nothing. Lovett feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

Even as he thinks it can’t get any worse, Tommy says, “Glad to know you’re so invested in the reasoning of my dick.” His voice is cold and biting, and Lovett urgently needs to get as far away from that voice as possible. He backs away, his face burning. The club is too stuffy, and he needs air.

“I’m not. I’m not being…” He’s not sure how to finish the sentence. He can still brush this off. He didn’t confess anything (much). He’s safe. All he has to do is make an excuse for what he’s already said, and find a way to escape this ill-conceived confrontation.

“No,” Tommy says, taking Lovett by the biceps and pulling him back into his space. Lovett isn’t sure what Tommy sees on his face that makes his whole affect change, but the cold expression has completely disappeared from his face. Lovett struggles out of his grip. He’s not interested in being close to Tommy right now, not willing to indulge whatever macho reconciliation ritual he’s attempting here.

“Jon,” he says. Lovett looks at the floor, the bartenders, the DJ booth. Anywhere but at Tommy. Without watching his mouth, it’s harder to make out what Tommy’s saying, but he thinks he hears, “I want you to be interested.”

What?

“What?” He turns sharply, looks up into Tommy’s face. He’s looking at Lovett with an expression that’s equal parts affectionate and . . . something else. Hopeful? It looks like hopeful. Could it be hopeful?

Tommy leans down and murmurs into Lovett’s ear. His body, dumb and disobedient, thrills at the proximity. He wills himself to chill, be smart, protect himself. He’s overcome, unfocused even as he hears Tommy say, “It’s you. You in your element, basking in applause, it’s the hottest you’ve ever been.”

Lovett pulls back and faces Tommy straight on. The charge between them goes right to his dick. Even with the all the noise around them, he feels like they are the only people in the room. Can he kiss Tommy now? Is that what this all means?

“It’s too loud in here,” Lovett says, unable to suppress the smile spreading over his face. “It sounded like you just said I turn you on.”

Tommy looks at him steadily, his face serious and determined. “I did,” Tommy says, reading for Lovett’s hand. “You do.”

Lovett presses forward before he can lose his nerve, reaching for Tommy and stretching up on his toes to kiss his ridiculous, wonderful mouth.

Lovett has kissed friends before, has hooked up with guys he’s known for a while. There’s always a little weirdness at the start, an adjustment period where it still feels sort of wrong.

This is nothing like that. He knows Tommy so well that it should be strange to kiss him, but it’s not. It’s sweet and thrilling and so, so good. Tommy’s still holding his hand, brushing his thumb over Lovett’s knuckles, sending little sparks shooting through him.

Emboldened, he shoves his thigh between Tommy’s, crowding into him so that there’s no space between them. Tommy is, God, wonderfully, delightfully, endearingly hard. This time, Lovett’s sure it’s not because of performance anxiety. He moans low as Lovett rocks his hips against him, a needy and glorious sound.

“Wanna get out of here,” Lovett says, his delivery smoother than his racing heart would suggest. Tommy nods so eagerly that it makes Lovett laugh. He grips his wrist and steers him out of the club without looking back.

***

They can’t stop smiling at each other in the Lyft back to the hotel. Lovett doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He tugs nervously at the the hem of his own shorts until Tommy reaches over and stills his movement, laying his large hand over Lovett’s small one in a calming gesture he’s performed dozens times over the years.

If Lovett is honest with himself, he likes it when Tommy does that. He sometimes feels tempted to tap or fidget on purpose, to provoke Tommy into firmly making him stop. He likes the heavy warmth of Tommy’s hand, even when it’s a fleeting touch. This time, Tommy keeps his hand right where it is and gives Lovett’s fingers a gentle squeeze, nudging his shoulder against Lovett’s.

He wishes they were alone already. He’s hyper-aware of the driver’s presence. The short drive to the hotel stretches out unbearably.

With his free hand, Lovett pulls out his phone and opens a new message to Tommy.

_Hey Tommy_

Tommy keeps his hand on Lovett’s as his text alert buzzes in his front pocket. He reaches for his phone and scrunches up his face when he sees who the message is from.

Lovett can feel Tommy’s eyes on him, but he keeps his expression impassive, keeps looking down at his phone. Dots appear in the message thread, and then a reply

_Hey yourself_

Lovett thinks for a moment, then types out:

_Are you thinking about what you’re going to do to me when we get back to the hotel?_

Out of the corner of his eye, Lovett watches Tommy blush and duck his head. He clears his throat as he types a response.

_Now I am_

And a moment later, _Waze is showing ten more minutes until we get there. Show me some mercy, Lovett._

Lovett smiles. He’s going to keep them busy the rest of the way.

_Do you think our driver notices how hard you are right now?_

Tommy’s grip on Lovett’s hand tightens, squeezing their joined hands against Lovett’s thigh. He can feel Tommy’s short nails dig into him.

 _I am going to kill you,_ Tommy writes.

_You want me too much to kill me_

_Fair point_

They ride in silence for a bit, hands still together. This is the longest ten minutes of Lovett’s life.

 _Hey Tommy_ , he types out.

_Hey Lovett_

_Do you think our driver would be mad if I climbed into your lap?_

Tommy buries his face in his hands briefly, then types out _Yes._

_Would you be mad?_

_I would not_

Lovett smirks at him and puts his phone away. Tommy looks out the window and bites his knuckle. He checks Waze again, and Lovett leans over to see. Their thighs are pressed together. Four more minutes.

***

As soon as the elevator doors shut behind them, Tommy is all over him—hands in Lovett’s hair, then sweeping his back, then grabbing his hips, pressing him against the mirrored wall. He kisses Lovett’s mouth, his chin, his neck. Lovett is making the most embarrassing little moans, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because it’s _Tommy._ Tommy kissing him hard and breathless, holding him like he might slip away at any moment. As if there was any chance of that. As if that could ever, ever happen.

The elevator climbs to their floor at an impossibly slow pace, apparently a theme this evening. Tommy rests his forehead against Lovett’s. They are both breathing hard, holding onto each other’s arms, unwilling to break contact.

Lovett glances at the ceiling. “I bet hotel security’s watching us,” he says, gesturing to the tiny surveillance camera in the corner of the elevator.

If Tommy is embarrassed by this possibility, having an audience for their shenanigans does not deter him. If anything, he’s inspired by the prospect. He crowds even closer to Lovett, nuzzling under his ear, brushing his lips against the line of his jaw.

“You like that,” Lovett continues in a low and teasing voice, egged on by Tommy’s enthusiasm. “You want everyone to see how badly you want it, how um, how desperate you are to fuck me?”

Tommy groans and cuts him off with a kiss, and another, trapping him against the back of the elevator, pressing against him so hard that Lovett feels out of breath. Lovett reaches between them and presses his palm to the hard line of Tommy’s cock, tracing his fingers where it strains against his pants. After months of furtive glances, Lovett feels giddy at the opportunity to actually _touch_ Tommy. He wants everything at the same time, wants all of Tommy at once.

“Should I show them?” Lovett mumbles into Tommy’s hair as Tommy’s mouth moves lower, trailing kisses down Lovett’s neck, tugging at the collar of Lovett’s t-shirt with his teeth, then sighing and burying his face in Lovett’s curls.

“I could getting on my knees for you,” Lovett says, encouraged by Tommy’s sharp inhale at that suggestion. “I could take your cock out right here in the elevator. Think they’d like that?”

Lovett’s bluffing, he’s pretty sure, talking bold to get Tommy even more worked up. But he doesn’t get to find out if he really would have done it, because the elevator doors _finally_ slide open, and Tommy pulls him along the hallway to his room. He fumbles with the keycard, one hand tightly circled around Lovett’s wrist.

Finally, they are inside. For a moment, it’s quiet, almost awkward. Lovett crouches to untie his sneakers, just to have something to do. Tommy clears his throat, says, “So . . .” He’s looking down at Lovett, his gaze so tentative and nervous that Lovett is seized with tenderness. He’s felt that softness toward Tommy so many times before, but there’s never been anything to do with the feeling but make a joke about it, employ some misdirection and wait for the longing to dissipate.

He rises to stand and walks over to Tommy. He takes Tommy’s big hands and rests them on his own cheeks, cradling his face. Their eyes meet, and now there’s nothing tentative about any of it. Tommy pulls him close, kisses him, groaning against Lovett’s mouth. He pulls off Lovett’s shirt, and then his own, and the sensation of Tommy’s smooth chest against his is too much for Lovett. Or maybe the perfect amount.

They’re so close, Lovett can feel how fast Tommy’s heart is beating. Lovett wants to be self-conscious about the way he looks without his shirt, but Tommy’s hands and mouth are everywhere, pulling Lovett in and quieting his mind and carrying him away, too turned on to be shy.

And then Tommy is firmly moving Lovett to sit on the couch, and Tommy is the one dropping to his knees, falling forward between Lovett’s parted legs, looking up from under those weird pale eyelashes and asking, “Can I?” His hands fumble with Lovett’s zipper, hesitant.

“Can you? Are you serious right now?” It’s all Lovett can do to still his hips, not to thrust eagerly against Tommy’s hands. “You’re waiting for permission to suck my dick? Tommy! Do it already.”

Tommy laughs and leans down to kiss Lovett’s knee, his thigh, higher and higher up his leg. At the same time, he works Lovett’s shorts off, hooks his thumbs under Lovett’s boxer briefs and yanks them down.

“So yes?” Tommy rests his cheek against Lovett’s bare thigh and looks up at him.

“Yes! Tommy, please.” He’s too far gone to feel embarrassed that he’s begging. Tommy, kind as always, doesn’t drag the moment out any longer. He takes Lovett deep in one fluid move, eyelids fluttering shut.

Lovett looks down at the sight of Tommy with his mouth stretched around his cock, cheeks hollowed out obscenely, and knows he won’t be able to last if he keeps watching him. He drops his head back against the couch and rests a hand gently against the side of Tommy’s head. The short waves of Tommy’s hair are so, so soft under his fingertips. Tommy moans at the touch and sucks harder, sending little curls of pleasure low in Lovett’s belly.

It occurs to him that this is certainly not Tommy’s first time giving a blowjob. They will definitely have to revisit that topic later. Lovett’s heart soars a little at the thought of _later_ , but then Tommy takes him deeper and does something brilliant with the tip of  his tongue that makes thinking impractical.

And then he is clambering onto the couch next to Lovett, frantically unzipping his own pants and shoving them down onto his thighs, licking his palm and reaching down to grip them both in his big hand.

“So,” says Lovett, nonsensically, dizzy with happiness and a need to feel more, be closer, “this is the penis I’ve heard so much about.”

Tommy laughs and kisses him, dirty and demanding, and that’s it. Lovett comes, and Tommy follows, muttering a string of filthy nonsense and praise, pulling Lovett impossibly close to him.

***

“The thing I can’t figure out is, why does it only happen when you’re around me?” They have finally made it to the bed. Tommy is lying with his cheek pressed to Lovett’s chest, his fingers playing idly with the sparse curls there. Lovett traces lazy circles on Tommy’s back.

“I mean, I am very attractive, I’ll give you that,” Lovett says. “But I’m not, like, the only person who does it for you, right?” Tommy doesn’t respond, so he goes on. “You interviewed Jon Legend in studio. I watched you blush and grin your way through an interview with Jane Mayer. You’re totally calm around Kander. Even with Beto. No admiration boners. Why is it different with me?”

Tommy’s hand stills “You know.”

Lovett considers that. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? “What? No, I don’t! Tell me.”

Tommy is quiet. Lovett smacks him softly on his back. “Come on. Tellmetellmetellme. Tommy. Tell me.”

Tommy laughs. “Lovett, don’t hit me.” He squeezes Lovett’s waist, cuddles closer. “I’ll tell you. It’s like . . .” He trails off. He has annoying habit of doing that.

Lovett waits for the end of that sentence, but Tommy is quiet. “Yeah?”

Tommy hides his face in Lovett’s chest, his voice going low and mumbly. “It’s not just about being turned on, it’s like, there has to be another element.”

Lovett lets that sink in. “And with me, there’s another element.”

“Right.”

“And this other element,” he prods, “would you call it —”

“Lovett, stop.”

“If you had to put a name on it, let’s say.”

“Shut up. Don’t make me say it.”

“Oh, you’re saying it. I’m definitely making you say it.

Tommy mutters something indistinct into Lovett’s skin.

“Hmm? Didn’t catch that.”

Tommy groans, props himself up on his fists, caging Lovett in.

“Love. That’s the other element. I’m in love with you. That’s why it’s different with you.”

Lovett feels his smile taking over his whole face. And Tommy smiles right back. They beam at each other in a dumb, unbreakable loop. Lovett’s heart swoops. It’s too intense for him to keep looking into Tommy’s eyes, and it also feels impossible to ever stop. Has he always had to concentrate this much on breathing? He can’t remember.

He reaches for Tommy. Smooths his hair off his sweaty forehead, cups his jaw, brushes his thumb against Tommy’s chin, the soft skin under his lip.

“Wow, Tommy,” he says, shaky on the exhale. “How embarrassing.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Persuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persuna/pseuds/persuna) for making this better.


End file.
